


And from beyond, we carry on.

by poeticeclipse



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types, The Office (US)
Genre: Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27674870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poeticeclipse/pseuds/poeticeclipse
Summary: What started as a leisurely vacation has now turned into a permanent one for Jim and Pam. And if navigating the afterlife wasn't hard enough now they have company.Featuring Jim and Pam as the Maitland's; Michael, Jan and Ryan as the Deetz' and Beetlejuice as Beetlejuice.
Relationships: Jan Levinson/Michael Scott, Pam Beesly/Jim Halpert
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this was supposed to be finished for October... 
> 
> *Aggressively chucks it at you through the void* Enjoy! ...also comments and kudos

It's golden hour in the small Connecticut town, the heat of the day receding with the lowering of the sun. Over the rickety bridge lies Halpert's hardware and appliance, and inside we find one Jim halpert, hurriedly wiping counters, and counting the till, before exuberantly flipping the 'we're closed' sign followed by a sheet of paper declaring 'on vacation'. He takes a last look around the store.

Dust motes waft down in the golden rays cast from the window, the smell of sawdust and paint lingers in the air, he smiles grabbing his things.

Locking the door the little tinkle of the overhead bell fades as he jogs down to his truck excited to get home to Pam.  
A whole vacation spent fixing up their old Victorian home. He can hardly wait.

\---

"Pam?" He calls closing the front door.

Nothing.

She must be at Helen's borrowing more paint rags. Oh well, he can wait to give her her present. In the mean time he thinks grinning, he'll put the finishing touches on his hardware store model and surprise her.

He hurries up the stairs giddy as a school boy.

-

He's so focused on placing the tiny paper 'vacation!' sign with tweezers he doesn't hear her come in.

"Oh, honey it's looking so good."

He jumps spinning around. "There she is!"  
He pulls her close. "Happy vacation." He murmurs pecking her lips.

She smiles brightly, brandishing a wrapped gift from behind her back. "Happy vacation."

Tearing the paper off he gasps. "Manchurian tung oil. Where'd you get it!"

"Helen got it for me in Oslo. There's enough to refinish the gateleg table and the cherry wardrobe-"

He passes her present over.

"Oh, Jim!" She gushes holding the tapestry up. "It's gorgeous."

"I'm glad you like it." He hugs her to him. "And I'm glad we're spending our vacation at home."

"Me too. I'm going to get started right away." She bounces clutching the tapestry to her.

Jim grins at her enthusiasm.

From outside a car horn blares interrupting their quite joy.

"Oh no." Jim groans at Jane Butterfield's signature horn. "It's your turn." He tells her pointing.

She sighs and heads down stairs.

The banging on the kitchen window increases until she pulls back the curtain.

Jane's plump rosey face grins at her as she waves a legal pad furiously in the air.

Sighing she cracks the door, keeping the chain locked.

"Hi, Pam!" She calls through the opening. "I'm glad I caught you. I heard you were on vacation!"

"That's right, Jane. Complete vacation."

"Honey, today I am at three hundred fifty thousand dollars!"

"No! Jane. We're not selling."

"Look at me, think of me as cash! This offer is really real! From a rich man in New York City who only saw a photograph! My buyer has just made a killing selling a paper company and is looking to get away with his new little family. A little peace and quiet."

"That's what we're looking for, too."

Pam, sweetie, just listen now. This house is too big. It really ought to be for a couple with a family."  
She looks at Pam's pained face. "Oh, honey... I didn't mean anything... it's just too big for you is all."

"Goodbye, Jane." Pam smiles tightly shutting the door on her.

"Honey, come down to the store with me?" Jim asks jogging down the stairs.

"What for?" She blinks, pulling herself from her daze.

"I need a good brush for this Tung oil and I want to pick up a piece of the model I forgot in my hurry to get home."

She looks at the tapestry in her hands longingly. "Okay, but let's hurry back. You just run in okay?"

Pam cranks the engine and they head for town.

"Hey," Jim says looking over. "Okay?"

She bites her lip. "Jane said we should sell the house to someone with a family."

"Ah, the ever-tactful Jane." He squeezes her shoulder. "We should be flattered that she wants to sell our house."

"I know... I just wish she'd leave us alone."

"Let's not think about it. We'll have a nice romantic, quiet, vacation."

She nods absently, crossing the bridge and winding through mainstreet.

They pass the bozeman building and Ernie outside polishing the brass lion.

"Don't forget the balls, Ernie." Jim calls.

"Jim!"

Laughing they pull up to the shop.

Bill is outside the barbershop next door dozing in the breeze as Jim jogs up the steps. Fumbling his keys they clank to the porch with a rattle startling Bill awake.

"Morning, Jim. You need a haircut before your vacation?"

"No thanks, Bill."

"How's the model coming?"

"Good, Bill. Good." He says entering the shop.

Bill continues rambling. "Y'know, I was thinkin'... you said Bozman built the foundation in 1835 but y'know his grandson came in here last week and said he found a bottle with an 1836 stamp in it plastered in the foundation." He spits. "He's got hair down to his danged shoulders."

Jim pulls down a couple of paintbrushes and carefully picks up the small model of the Bozman building and heads out.

"He said 'Just give me a trim,' Bill continues. "I took a scissors to him so fast... would've skimmed him clean if he hadn't-"

Jim climbs in the truck. "See you, Bill."

He cradles the model carefully in his lap.

"It's beautiful." Pam remarks.

"Yeah it turned out okay. We applied for a historical plaque for it. That'll be the third one on Main Street."

"With all these historical landmarks in town, where are they going to put the condominiums?"

Jim laughs. "Slow down there, honey. I don't want the vibration to weaken the model." He says as they approach the curve leading to the bridge.

Pam starts to apply the brakes. Just before the bridge a dog waddles out into the road, stopping to sniff. Pam swerves and the car hits the rickety bridge, with too much speed. Boards rattle and loosen, the car skews and catches in an open slot, careening to the right, then the left. "Jim!" She just has time to cry before they crash through the side and down into the water.

\---

There's a fire burning when they step inside the livingroom. Wet and bedraggled, Pam says in a daze, "Something like this always happens when we try to go on vacation. Always."

Jim leads her toward the fire.  
"You'll feel better when you're dry." He says holding his hands out to be warmed.

Pam tilts her head quizzically. "This fire wasn't burning when we left the house. Was it?"

He shrugs. "How's your arm?"

"I'm not sure. It feels... frozen." She holds her arms out to warm them. Suddenly one hand catches fire. They stare at it dumbfounded before Jim regains his senses and snatches it from the fire. Two fingers continue to burn like candles. Pam quickly blows them out. "Oh, Jim!" She cries horrified.

-

Sitting on the couch together Pam looks away while Jim tends to her fingers. He frowns looking at the skin.  
It's pale.  
He looks at Pam. "You'd better sit down, hon."  
"I am sitting."  
"I'll tell you what. I don't think we survived that crash."  
"Oh, Jim. We're home. In our own house. Nonsense. I'll make some coffee. You get some more firewood."

Jim gets up, absently. She follows him as he wanders to the front door, peering out. "Let's take things extra slow. Do you remember how we got back up here?"

Pam tests her hand, clenches and unclenches her fist. "I'm fine. My arm works fine." She says distracted.

Jim opens the door, stepping out on the porch.  
He starts to step down to the yard.  
"I'm gonna go down to the bridge and retrace our steps."  
He steps off the last step into the yard and disappears.

"Jim!" Pam screams.

Jim is nowhere. There's no ground, no sky, nothing to stand on or hold onto or give boundaries or distance. Just vast nothing. Not white and not colored either. Just the sound of a ticking clock. He turns around to head back up the steps.

There are no steps.

"Pam?" He shouts, voice echoing.  
He runs off a little in the distance, and calls again from over there. "Where are you?" He whispers moving even farther away.

An enormous geared wheel the size of a man rolls by, tearing up the unseamed ground. Something pours up out of the tear, ooze or stuffing. Jim runs forward and stares after the wheel as it rolls out of sight. Two smaller gears spin along behind him suddenly veering toward him.  
He jumps out of the way. One gear snags his trouser leg and shreds it. Another falls from above and comes barreling toward him. He runs tripping and kicking up dust. Panting, his foot catches on seemingly nothing and he sprawls on the ground, the clock ticking in his head. As he's about to be crushed, he's suddenly jerked up to safety

Pam stands over him wide eyed.

"You saved my, uh, life... or whatever." He gasps, shaken.

"Two hours."

"What?"

"That's how long you were gone."

She leads him into the house.

"Anything happen while I was away?"

"Yes, it did. Yes, it did. I made a couple of small discoveries." She stands by the mirror over the hearth mantle. Jim comes to stand beside her, looking into the mirror and seeing no reflection. "There's that, and there's this." She picks up an ancient, leather-bound book. HANDBOOK FOR THE RECENTLY DECEASED. "I don't know where it came from."  
She bites her lip. "I don't think we survived the crash." She finally admits.

-

Jim lies in bed that night reading from the handbook.

"I don't like situations like this. I hate it when I'm not in control. So just tell me the basics." Pam says.

"This book isn't arranged that way. What do you want to know?"

"There are a thousand things... Why did you disappear when you walked off the front porch? Is this a punishment? Are we halfway to heaven or are we halfway to hell? And how long is this going to last?"

"I don't see anything about 'Rewards and Punishments' or 'Heaven and Hell' This book reads like stereo instructions. Listen to this, 'Geographical and Temporal Perimeters... Functional perimeters vary from manifestation to manifestation." This is going to take some time."

Pam kicks a wayward roll of wallpaper. "I knew I'd never finish the guest room. Jim, we just can't stay in here forever!"

Sighing Jim stands and walks to the window. "Maybe we should set up a normal routine."

She looks at him like he's nuts.

"I mean," he continues. "Let's try to nail down something in our lives. A regular schedule. We can keep track of time and go on with our projects up in the attic."

She shakes her head, exasperated and flops down on the bed. "Oh, God, maybe this is all just a bad dream."

"I'm afraid not, honey." He says sadly.

"Why? What's wrong?" She gets up and joins him at the window.

In the distance a funeral procession is threading its way toward the nearby cemetery.  
She drops her head sadly on his shoulder and he gives her a squeeze.

\--

Jim is setting up a small monument in the model town cemetery. It reads: Jim and Pam Halpert/ United in life/undivided in death. "I wish I had a better view of the cemetery from up here. I don't know which area is the best placement for us."

Pam let's out a frustrated yelp while pacing.

"Cabin fever?"

"I can't clean anything. The vacuum is out in the garage. I can't leave the house. Why don't they tell us something? Where are all the other dead people in the world? Why is it just you and me?"

"Maybe this is heaven." He smiles.

"In heaven there wouldn't be dust on the wallpaper." She sighs sliding a finger along the wall.

"Hon... I didn't want to die, but really, this is fine with me. Look, we never have to wash dishes again."

"Dishes? We haven't eaten in three weeks! Jim, I'm not like you. I really need to be around people, get out to the church and go grocery shopping."

"But I'm not hungry, are you?"

She shakes her head and picks up the Handbook paging through it desperately. "I keep having this feeling that something has got to happen."

From outside a car door slams

Jane stares up at the old house.

"God, it's Jane."

"What's she doing here?"

"I don't know." He leans against the window. "Jane, Jane, up here!"

Pam watches him and shakes her head as Jane gets back in her car.

"She can't see you, right?"

Jim nods.

"In the book, Rule Number Two: the living usually won't see the dead." She says.

"Won't? Or can't?"

"Just says "won't." Wait a minute. Here it says "the living are arrogant... they think they'll never die, so they refuse to see the dead."

"Arrogant. That's Jane all right."

"At least we won't have to worry about her anymore."

Jim smiles and goes back to his model.

Jane drives away leaving a for sale sign in the yard and across it: sold.

\---

Two weeks later a sleek black Mercedes-Benz pulls slowly up the drive.

"Hey," Michael says leaning around his seat to get his son's attention. "Take a look."

Glancing up, Ryan tosses his book on the seat beside him and unfurls his legs. Climbing slowly from the car he squints up at the homes massive eaves. Rust lines the roof. His mother would hate it. He hates it. Hates leaving their old house, his old school, the city he grew up in, but mostly he hates leaving the place where all the memories of his mother live. "I'll be back soon." She had said, fingering his curls gently. But that had been five years ago now and he hasn't seen her since. Still, he holds her smile in his mind trying to feel her. Doesn't she know he needs her? Doesn't she miss him at all?

His step "mother" stumbles from the vehicle swatting at nats. Smoothing her pant suit she rests a hand on his shoulder. "Well, what do you think darling? Lovely isn't it."

He shrugs her hand off. "It's hideous."

"Ryan." His father scolds tiredly. But he ignores them grabbing his backpack and running up the steps.

-

Pam watches from the window as a car rolls slowly up the hill. "They're here."

Jim moves to stand beside her.  
A man climbs out, smartly dressed, the sun lighting on the silver in his hair and beard, he pulls his shades off surveying the yard. "Business type, huh." He says with a touch of bitterness.

"Maybe." Pam says softly watching as the back door opens. "Oh, they have a son." She says wistful, touching the glass and Jim's heart gives a pang, they always wanted children something they'll never have now he supposes. He clenches a fist to keep from striking the glass. Together they take in the boy with tousled dark hair, hunched in on himself with arms folded.

"How old you think?"

"I don't know. Nine? Ten?"

"He's adorable."

Jim smiles. "You can barely see his features."

"He's adorable I know it."

"He may well be but what are we going to do about them moving in?"

-

Jan sighs looking around the house. "I want all this junk out." She tells the moving men.

"The noise in that kitchen. Noisy refrigerator, noisy faucets... We'll have to replace it all. I want no humming in the house." Michael says rubbing his upper lip. "What do you think, champ?"

Ryan offers a sulky glare.

"Right! Hey, be a sport and run and fetch my briefcase will you."

"He hates it." Jan sighs watching him go.

"He just needs some time." Michael assures coming up behind her to give her a squeeze.

From down the hall Jim screams, rushing in headless with Pam on his heels, knife in hand.

"What do you think about the wallpaper?" Jan asks looking right through them.

"Whatever you want, honey." He says giving her a kiss.

Pam let's Jim's head drop to the floor.

"It's no use. They can't see us." She says in defeat.

"What about that third floor?" She asks. "Think we could make it a workspace."

He smiles. "I'm sure we could. Let's go take a look."

"Oh, God. I forgot to lock the attic!" Jim says scrambling for his head and racing for the stairs.

Still holding his head he stumbles up the steps after them. Running he careens past them and around the bend.

Michael shivers. "Bit of a draft I think."

Jim slams the door shut, turning the key in the knick of time.

Jan tries the knob. "You don't have a key?" She asks.

"No. Remind me to call the realtor later." Michael sighs. Then, cheering. "In the mean time plenty to do." He smiles and they head back down stairs.

"What were you doing?" Ryan asks suspiciously.

"Taking a look at the attic."

"What's up there?"

"Don't know we don't have a key." Michael shrugs heading for the door to help the moving men.

Ryan flops on a dusty settee watching the moving men go in and out and Jan circling the room tossing things in a pile.

"Needle point. How atrocious." She sighs wadding it up and tossing it in the heap.

"No!" Pam cries softly, touching her lips. Jim comes up behind her, wrapping her tight in his arms and glares at the invaders.

"You're throwing away history," Ryan remarks from where he's lounging. "That's 18th century at the least."

"Why don't you go show the movers where to lug your mountain of books, hmm?" She pushes his feet down shooing him away.

Glaring halfheartedly he makes a mental note to save the tapestry when she's not looking.

-

"She's a horrible woman," Pam sniffs hugging the tapestry to her.

Jim quietly closes the attic door, locking it.  
Coming to sit beside her he puts an arm around her. "I'm sorry," he whispers against her temple.

"What are we going to do, Jim? I like the little boy but we can't stay in the attic forever."

"I don't know." He murmurs holding her tight.

-

Ryan stumbles down the steps and out to where his dad is directing moving men

"She's throwing away all the history in the house."

"You know she has a very defined sense of style. I'm sure she'll have this place feeling like home in no time."

He rolls his eyes. Nowhere's gonna feel like home except home. "I like it the way it is."

"Just trust her, okay. She does a good job with her lamps, right?"

 _Oh, yeah_... her lamps. Which he could grudgingly admit are kinda impressive. Crafted from eggshell china the mosaic patterns often created in muted florals burst vibrantly to life when lit. 'Illuminations by Jan' became her brand name and have begun to develop a steady following among the city socialites. Still.

"It's history, dad."

He sighs. "Look, I'll tell the movers not to throw anything out till the end of the week, okay? Pick out what you want to keep and the rest we can donate."

"Alright," he grumbles kicking at a rock.

From the drive a horn gives a little toot.

"Ugh, that's Jane. Do me a favor, hun, get rid of her while I finish moving these." He hefts a box to his shoulders heading for the house.

"Hi!" Jane calls cheerfully through the car window.  
Ryan slinks down the drive. "Hi."

"Getting settled?" she chirps.

"Kinda. Hey," he asks "what exactly happened to the people that used to live here?"

"Oh, poor things," she titters "drowned, both of them, going off the bridge."

"A suicide?"

"Oh, goodness no! Just an accident."

"Oh," he says glancing back towards the house. Something catches his eye and he shudders. Something in the attic window.

"Dear?"

"I'm sorry," he says letting his breath out in a rush. He wasn't even aware he was holding it.

"I said please give this key to your father," she says passing an iron key over to him.

"To the attic?"

"Any room in the house. That's a skeleton key. Well, I have to be running, tell your mother if she needs any help with the decorating to give me a call."

"Step mother," he mutters as she backs down the drive.  
He slips the key in his pocket and stares up at the attic.

"What did Jane want?" His dad asks coming down the porch steps with Jan behind him, wiping her hands on a rag.

"Just to see how we were getting on," he shrugs.

"Shoot," Michael says snapping his fingers. "I forgot to ask for the key. Did she say anything to you about it?"

"No, she didn't say anything."

Jan narrows her eyes at him.

"What?"

"Nothing," she says after a minute. "Your father and I are exhausted after all the moving and thought we might go into town for dinner. Sound good?"

"I guess." He squeezes the key in his pocket. Looks like the attic will have to wait.

-

"He saw us." Pam breathes, watching the car leave the drive.

"Impossible. Nobody can see us. We can't make them see us." Jim's head drops thinking about all the moving men he's shrieked and pulled his head off for.

"I'm telling you he saw us. I felt it... And Jane gave him a key."

"Well. What are we going to do?"

They sit silently, contemplating, Pam stroking the edge of the tapestry.  
"What's the good of being a ghost if you can't frighten people to death?" She bursts suddenly. Standing, she let's the fabric slide from her lap to the floor.

"Honey?"

"No, I'm not putting up with this." She storms out heading straight for the back door.

Jim rushes after her as she opens the door.  
"Pam! Don't go out there. You don't know-"

"Nothing can be worse than this." She flings open the door and steps outside disappearing in a blink.

"Pam!"

Pam plunges into the dusty surface of a titan moon, an enormous Saturn looms in the sky. She looks around in wonder and fear, standing tremulously, she instantly regrets having left the attic. She wipes her hands on her dress dusting them from the yellow powder.  
In the distance a sulfur volcano erupts and meteors crash with lurid explosions.

From a great distance she hears Jim's voice like thunder.

"Pam!"

She turns slowly in the dense sand as he trudges towards her.  
Behind him, hovering isolated in the air, is the kitchen door.

At last Jim catches up to her.  
"Oh, Jim. Find somebody. I'm getting all yellow. Do something!

Behind them Something burrows rapidly towards them through the sand.

They stare for a moment in anticipation, then Jim grabs her and pulls her toward the kitchen door.

But it's somehow moved, and they have to run in another direction.  
The something follows them and rises out of the sand. It's very big, very nasty, and very hungry. Snapping, the sandworm roars with large grotesque teeth flashing and lunges at them. Pam instinctively strikes at it.  
Momentarily stunned at the audacity it freezes and shakes its loathesome head. Or rather, heads. Pam slaps at it again. Jim watches wide-eyed, and tries to pull her away. The Sandworm recovers and roars after them.

Slipping and sinking in the sand they exert every last bit of momentum they have and manage to make it to the door just in time. Swinging it open they hurl themselves through and it shuts with a bang in the angry worms snapping face.

Pam crys, throwing herself in Jim's arms. "Don't ever leave me alone!"

"You left me." He says still stunned.

"I know. I'm sorry." She hugs him tight. "I just realized that I could have been killed alone. Don't ever leave me, honey."  
She chokes. "We're trapped in this house forever... with those... people."

"You can't say that for sure. It could be a transitional thing. Like a post-life crisis. We just have to be tougher with them. Come on. Have some brandy. Spirits?"

"Death didn't improve your sense of humor." She sniffs leaning against him and trying for a smile.

-

"Where's my bike?" Ryan asks bright and early the next day.

"I think it's still in the truck, bud. But hey, Jan needs your help carrying the hydrangeas around the side of the house."

"You said I could go to the library."

"When we're finished here."

"If she wants the stupid flowers so much let her plant them."

"Go help your mother."

"Step mother," Ryan grits angrily.

Michael sighs wearily and rubs his brow. "She cares about you Ryan."

His fist clench. "So."

"So, you could stand to be at the least polite."

"You never even asked me if I wanted a stupid step mom!" He suddenly shouts.

"What about me, huh?" Michael huffs frustrated. "I can't be happy?"

"You didn't have to leave your school. You got everything!" His lip trembles, "I hate you!" He shouts running down the sloped lawn up to the house.

He kicks the door open wiping angry tears from his face. He's not sure where to go with everyone milling around all he knows is he doesn't want to face Jan right now.

His feet pound up the stairs until he finds himself in the murky stairwell leading up to the attic. That one lone door seeming almost ominous in the dark. He absently slips his hand in his pocket feeling for the key, the cool metal against his palm makes him shiver. He starts to ease one foot off the stair in indecision when Jan calls for him from down below. He hastily digs the key out fitting it in the lock. it squeaks and grinds against the mechanisms, he presses all his weight against it turning, finally it gives way with a loud clack and swings in. He blinks in the muted light from the high windows. Empty picture frames hang from the wall on one side, a couple of rolled rugs, but what really catches his eye is the display layed out in the middle of the room. Buildings and people sprinkled across a sloping landscape.  
It's the whole town he realizes entranced. Little people carved of wood and painted to life; he gently scoops one up turning it in his hand.  
Fascinating.  
A fly buzzes lighting on a grave stone in the tiny cemetery. Ryan wrinkles his nose.  
He wonders who made it all and why. Replacing the figure he let's his gaze slide along the room until it lands on an opened book. Walking over slowly he closes the cover to read: Handbook for the recently deceased.  
Freaky.  
"Ryan." His dad calls. He jumps, quickly shoving the book under his shirt and starts to leave when he notices what's hanging on the wall in front of him.

The tapestry.

-

Jim hefts himself back inside, turning to assist Pam. "Tell me," he pants "why'd we have to hide again."

She drops from the window shaking. "I told you, he saw us."

"Well, maybe that's not a bad thing." Jim muses. "Maybe he could help us."

"Maybe..."

From within the cemetery a tinny cry escapes before the fly is sucked into the model by pale white hands. A throaty laugh bubbles from the lone marker marked: Beetlejuice.

-

Ryan clomps into the dining room to find Jan and his dad standing close together.

"How's your head?" Michael asks quietly, rubbing her arms.

"I'm alright," she smiles.

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear leaning in to kiss her.

"Oh barf," Ryan grumbles. "I thought you wanted me to be able to eat dinner."

Jan rolls her eyes thumping her head against Michael's chest.

"Behave," his father chides lightly, taking a seat.

Ryan stares at his plate. "What is it?"

"Duck confit."

He takes a bite and pulls a face but they ignore him, continuing to make plans for the yard.

Ryan slouches in his seat, idly twirling his fork.

"We have ghosts in the attic."

Jan sets her knife down, tiredly massaging her forehead. "Please can we have one normal dinner."

"I'm serious."

"Ryan," his father warns. "How'd you even get in the attic anyway?"

He looks at his plate. "Ms. Butterfield gave me a key."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"What for she would have thrown everything out," he glances at Jan. "And you know what's up there? The tapestry you tried to get rid of. Its hanging up there."

"Well maybe there were two," she sighs.

"Two identical antique tapestries in the same house," he accuses.

"Ryan," his father says tiredly. "Just stop, okay. Maybe one of the moving men put some things up there to get it out of the way untill we can go through them."

"They don't have a key."

"Well no one else has been here."

"Exactly. Ghosts."

Jan pinches her brow.

"That's enough about ghosts," his father says.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot we can't disrupt step mom's pretentious dinner."

"Room!" His father barks.

"Michael," Jan says quietly, laying a hand on his arm.

"Fine by me!" Ryan shouts pushing away from the table and stomping up to his room.

Nobody cares what he has to say, he thinks angrily, wiping at his cheeks. Nobody cares that maybe he's just a little bit scared. He slams his door and grabs the handbook flopping to his bed.

\--

He's so engrossed in the book that the light tap on his door has him jumping nearly a foot. The book topples to the floor and his heart races.

"Brought you a snack," Jan says quietly, stepping in.

He peeks at the plate relieved to see peanut butter and not confit-whatever.

"I'll just leave it here for you then," she says after the silence stretches. She sets it on the nightstand. "Don't stay up too late."

He grits his teeth. Like she has any right to tell him what to do.

"Getting settled in here?" His dad asks coming in and taking a look around at the half empty boxes.  
Ryan shrugs picking at a thread in the blanket.  
"I'll help you finish up tomorrow if you want," he says turning.

"Hey, dad?" Ryan wavers and his voice cracks.

His father looks at him in concern coming to sit on the side of the bed.

Jan quietly pulls the door to to give them some privacy.

"What's up, bud?"

Ryan leans against him hugging his neck tight.

"Hey," his dad says lowly giving him a squeeze.

He swallows hard, resting his head against his shoulder.

Michael sighs. "I know this move has been hard on you, son," he says rubbing his back. "But once we get settled it's going to start feeling more like home."

Ryan doubts that. It had been just him and his dad for so long that he had recently started to think less and less about his mother, until Jan came into their lives, now she's all he can think about.

He sucks in a breath snuggling against his father's shoulder. "Do you think mom loved me?" He asks.

"Of course, honey. Of course she loved you... She just, she had trouble staying still. There were a lot of demons that plagued her mind. Maybe one day she'll realize she needs help and settle down."

"You won't leave though, right?"

"I would never leave you," he assures kissing his head. "Cross my heart hope to-"

"Don't say it."

He smiles brushing his cheek. "Alright. I won't say it. Get some sleep." He pats his knee, shifting to stand.

"Sit with me?" Ryan blurts grabbing his wrist. "I mean," he glances towards the door. "Just for a little bit."

Michael's face wrinkles in concern. "Sure, son." He sits next to him against the headboard pulling him snug to his side and resting his head against his. "Hey," he murmurs after a minute. "You know I love you, right?"

Ryan nods closing his eyes.

They sit in silence, Michael rubbing his arm.

When it looks like he's settled in, he slides slowly from the bed and tucks him in. "Goodnight," he murmurs smoothing his hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Night," Ryan murmurs back, already drifting.


	2. Chapter 2

"What are you doing?" Jim asks watching Pam study a faded piece of paper.

"Found it a while ago." She holds it out.   
"Where were you?"

"Chaining all Michael's paperclips together."

She rolls her eyes. "Just look at this."

'Having difficulty adjusting? Is death a problem and not a solution? Unhappy with eternity? Troubled by the living? Call Betelgeuse, the bio-exorcist. That's Betelgeuse, Betel...'

The remainder of the sheet is torn off. 

"That's it? No number, or instructions?"

"Nope."

"The bio-exorcist? I don't get it."

From the corner an old TV suddenly bursts to life.

Have the living got you down? Betelgeuse! Are they jacking you around? Betelgeuse! Have you broken out in hives 'Cause you're tired of their jive? I will drive them from your hive... Betelgeuse! Say it once... Betelgeuse Say it twice... Betelgeuse. The third time's a charm... Betelgeuse! Come on down!

The television sparks and goes out.

"That was weird." Pam says shakily.

"Yeah." Jim agrees staring at the black screen. "What about the boy?" He asks absently.

"I told you I don't want to involve him if we don't have to."

"We're running out of options." 

"What about that door thing again?"   
She ignores his eyeroll. "It's worth a shot."

Sighing, Jim takes a piece of chalk and trys drawing a little door on the exposed brick of the chimney. 

"You don't actually think this is going to work?" 

She waves a hand for him to continue.

He draws a doorknob and tries to turn it, but it doesn't budge. He sighs again looking up at the ceiling, then writes on the door: knock and enter. He exchanges a glance with Pam and knocks on the door trying once again to turn the knob.   
Nothing.   
He continues, Knock three times. He knocks three times, turns the knob and somehow the chalked door miraculously swings open. 

His jaw drops and Pam gasps.

Behind the door an eerie light pours out and music soars.

They look at one another and grasp hands tentatively stepping through. 

-

It's the most unpleasant waiting room that you'd ever remember waiting in. Fifties furniture with broken legs, couches propped up on telephone books. Standing ashtrays with dirty stands. Linoleum floors patched a hundred times. National Geographics with the covers torn off. The "Take a number" registers in the millions. 

The receptionist is a quintessential 50's lady, tight sweater, bullet-breasted bra, bleached hair, red lipstick. She's wearing a ribbon across her breast reading "MISS ARGENTINA" and there are knife slashes across both wrists.   
"You don't have an appointment, do you?" She asks.

"W... We didn't know how to make one." Jim says.

"An appointment for what?"

"What do you want?"

"We need some help." Pam says.

"Already? You just bit the big one nine months ago and you want help?"

"Nine months? What difference does that make?"

She shrugs. "You're going to use up all your help vouchers."

"Help vouchers?"

"D-90's. You spend a hundred and twenty-five years on earth, actually, in that house, during which you get only three class-one D-90 intercessions with Juno. You probably haven't even read through the manual completely yet."

"Why three?"

"Rule Number Three. Everything comes in threes... You'll have to wait if you don't have an appointment."

"How long do we have to wait? Wait for who?"

"For Juno, your caseworker. Not that it matters to your type. But there are all these other people here ahead of you. I'd say 3 hours."

The waiting room is filled with people. Dead people, some in fairly awful states. A cornucopia of carnal shreddage.

Pam looks around quietly grasping Jim's hand.

The receptionist continues. "Number 54 million, six hundred one. Ferndock."

-

"A hundred twenty-five years! I can't believe it. I can't believe they didn't tell us." Pam fumes stalking down the hall after finally being called back. She bumps into a shade along the wall and it rolls up flapping. She stares in through the window, Jim peering in beside her.  
It's a smouldering, mist-filled room.  
From the smoky plasma floats an occasional tortured soul. Music wafts from within, grating strings of some type, a violin perhaps, the sound slides in the ears and courses through the body in unspeakable sadness. They get only a glimpse of the bodies in this horrible human soup. "Jim, look at this." She murmurs pressing a hand to her mouth, horror struck.   
Suddenly, floating up from below, immediately on the other side of the window, a white-crepe face emerges. A slim face that must have been beautiful once, stares through them, one lithe hand extending, her eyes are red and blue tears rim them contrasting sharply against the flaking crust of pale skin. She opens her mouth plaintively but no sound comes out.  
"Oh, Jim... what is this?"  
A reflection joins them on their side of the window and a janitor yanks the shade down firmly. "That's the lost souls room. A room for ghosts who have been exorcised. Poor devils. That's death for the dead. It's all in the handbook. Keep moving." He scuttles off. 

Jim and Pam walk on sadly, until they come to a door that looks exactly like the swinging door between the kitchen and dining room of their house. 

"This is it... the sixth door?" Jim asks dumbfounded.

Pam shrugs and pushes it open.   
Everything is dark, quiet.   
They walk on to the living room.

-

A spotlight snaps on, revealing Juno, their caseworker. She's an older woman, no nonsense about her and smartly dressed. "I'd nearly given up on you. I was about to leave. I do have other clients."

"Are you our caseworker?"

"Yes. I evaluate individual cases and determine if help is needed, deserved, and available."

"We need help. We deserve help." Pam insists.

"Are you available?" Jim asks.

"No." A pause. "What's wrong?"

"We're very unhappy."

"What do you expect? You're dead."

"We'd like some help in getting rid of the people who moved in here. Pam and I worked very hard on this house. And these people" He indicates the modern furniture and eggshell lamps.

Juno walks around the room shaking her head. They follow her as she looks around the house and eventually end up in their attic space. 

"Things seem pretty quiet here. You should thank God you didn't die in Italy." She checks the file. The Scotts. Okay. Have you been studying the manual?"

"We tried."

"The Intermediate Interface chapter on Haunting says it all. Get 'em out yourself. It's your house. Haunted houses don't come easy."

"We don't quite get it."

"I heard.Tore your face right off! Bad news. It obviously doesn't do any good to pull your heads off in front of people if they can't see you."

"We have to start simpler, is that it?"

"Start simply. Do what you know. Use your talents. Practice. We only help those who help themselves. Just do a little at a time. And of course, practice, practice, practice. It's tricky but -- you weren't murderers by any chance, were you?"

"No."

"Pity. Murderers seem to have an easy time of it. Just look at Amityville. He was one of my boys. Didn't have to give that one any lessons. From day one... But I must be off... I've got a plane load of football players crashed in the midwest... they need a lot of help, just with the basics." 

"If... we have trouble. What about the guy in the flyer? Betelge..."

"Don't say his name! You don't want his help."

Jim and Pam look at each other. "Well... We might."

"No you don't! He does not work well with others."

"What do you mean? What's he do?"

A grave look comes over her face. "I wasn't going to bring it up, but rather than have you stumble into it and make another mistake, I'll tell you." She puffs a cigarette. "He was my assistant, but he was a troublemaker... He went out on his own as a free- lance bio-exorcist -- claims to get rid of the living... got into more trouble -- you remember the Chicago Fire? He was demoted to a Grade-6 malevolent spirit. He's been imprisoned on that plane ever since... in fact, I believe he's been sleezing around your cemetery lately. He can only be brought back by saying his name three times. But I strongly suggest that you remove the Scott's yourself." She takes a final drag on the cigarette and smoke billows around her as she starts to fade.

"And if we need you again, how do we...?" 

But she's gone. 

Pam goes to the model looking at the cemetery.   
"That guy is in our cemetery. Jim, I don't like this.

Jim takes her by the shoulders. "Look, she's right. We'll just start simple, be tougher. I feel... confident. C'mon I have an idea."

-

"I feel really stupid." Pam says beneath the sheet.

"It's not stupid. We're ghosts. Do you want this woman for breakfast for the next 125 years? Moan louder."

They start groaning at the top of their lungs.

"Sick sexual perversion! If you're going to do weird sex stuff do it in your own room."  
Ryan hollers irritably.

They stand at an impasse for a moment before Ryan glances down, falling against the wall.

"Holy crap! No feet!" He gasps staring at them, panting with fear. "A... Are you the guys hiding out in the attic?" He asks suddenly.

"We're ghosts." Jim moans.

"What do you look like under there?" He steps forward emboldened by curiosity.

"Aren't you scared?" Jim huffs.

"I'm not scared of Ralph Lauren. Those are sheets. Are you gross under there? Are you Night of the Living Dead, like all bloody veins and pus?"

"What?" 

"Night of the Living Dead. It's a movie."

Pam pulls her sheet off. "If I had seen a ghost at your age, I would have been frightened out of my wits."

"You're not gross. Why were you wearing a sheet?"

"We're practicing."

"You can actually see us? Without the sheets?" Jim asks.

"Is this a trick question?" 

"Tell the truth."

"Of course I can see you." He huffs.

"Nobody else can."

"I'm wearing contacts," he quips. "Also I read through the handbook. it says that living people ignore the strange and unusual... I, myself, am strange and unusual."

"You look like a regular boy to me." Pam says.

Ryan blushes at her warm smile.

"You read our book? Could you follow it?"

"Sure." He nods. "Why are you creeping around?"

"We were trying to scare your mother."

"Stepmother. And you can't, her migraine medicine knocks her out cold. I have the key to the attic you know." He adds a bit defianitely.

Jim shares a look with Pam. "Maybe we better talk."

-

In the attic Jim's rigged up the moon and stars over the little town and they stand looking down at it just beyond the fringes like dimly lighted giants. 

"You did this? You carved all these little figures and houses and things?"

"I did," Jim says pleased. "I'd finish it too, but... I don't get out much."

Ryan marvels, gently touching the rooftops. "And this used to be your house, I bet. Why do you want to scare everyone?"

"We want to frighten you away." He says a little sheepish. "So that you'll move out."

"You don't know the Scott's very well, do you. My father bought this place. He never walks away from equity. Why don't you leave?"

"We can't. We haven't left the house since the funeral."

"Funeral. Wow, you guys really are dead." He whispers fascinated. "What was it like? The funeral. Did you cry?" 

"We weren't there. The handbook says funerals aren't for the dead."

"Man," if this is true... "What's the underworld, or whatever, like?"

"It's... it's not a nice place, buddy." Jim murmurs looking away. "We'd much rather be here in our attic," he sighs. "At the least."

"I kinda like it up here too." He admits shyly. "Can I visit you sometimes?"

"Well, we're not great entertainers." He waves the sheet. "But why not." Leaning forward he conspiratorially 'whispers'. "Between you and me, I think Pam might like to strangle me sometimes to get me to stop talking. ...if she could." He winks. 

Ryan grins. "You guys are crazy."

"Says the boy talking to a pair of ghosts."

He rolls his eyes. "I better go..." 

"Wait. I don't think it would be a very good idea if you told your parents that we're up here." Pam cautions.

"Unless you think it would scare them off." Jim adds.

Pam swats his shoulder and offers Ryan the sheets back.

"Keep them." He says thinking. "Jan's having a mixer with the city's elite to drum up buissnes for her lamps." A slow smile begins to spread. "I bet a couple of well placed ghosts would really get the party started."

  
\--

  
The house is alight with homey smells and cheerful chatter. The fire glowing in the fireplace casts dancing shadows about the room as people mingle.

Ryan stands in the corner grumbling and tugging at his necktie. It matches with his father's, as does the over polished and feet pinching shoes. He wiggles his toes trying to see if can still feel them. Jan made everybody dress up tonight for her little soiree. She herself is wearing a red, fitted, off the shoulder cocktail dress, her hair done up in a loose side bun, tendrils of it framing her face and offsetting the long diamond drop earrings. 

Ryan watches her laugh, one slim hand coming up to brush a tendril.  
She's pretty he supposes, or his dad sure seems to think so. He wonders if his real mother is still as pretty as he remembers.   
He swallows and scrubs his foot across the carpet. From across the room he hears ms Martin's obnoxious throat clearing and winces.

"Angela, you remember my son don't you?" Jan says guiding him over to shake hands.

"Oh, yes, your _step_ son." She corrects.

Ryan grits his teeth irritably. Who does this woman think she is.

"We were thinking about purchasing some of those bookcases your husband sells for his room."

"Oh, how nice." She smirks. "You know... I was thinking you might just be a good candidate for our ladies club."

Jan beams. "Oh, I'd love to join."

"I'm sure. It would do wonders for your business. Perhaps, I could put in a word for you." She smiles coyly.

Ryan yanks at his collar. "Can I go now?"

"You know, Jan, I just love what you've done with the place. So much nicer than when you moved in."

"That's not what the ghosts say." Ryan mumbles.

"Ryan, please," Jan sighs pinching her brow.

"Ghosts?" Angela sniffs.

"He has an overactive imagination," Jan smiles tightly. "The perk of being an avid reader." She grips his shoulder pushing him towards the kitchen. Why don't you help your father while the ladies talk.

"Really, Jan, if there are spirits in this house."

"Angela, please," she scoffs.

"Well, just who were these people who owned the house before? Satanists? You never know what goes on in a small town."

Ryan catches Jim and Pam by the stairs.

"You guys almost ready?"

"Whenever you give the signal big guy." Jim grins.

Pam smiles. It's been so sweet watching them work side by side all week. 

"Okay. Let's wait for my dad to bring the drinks out."

Pam touches his hair softly. "Thanks for all your help Ryan."

He ducks his head bashfully.

From behind, the kitchen door swings open and Michael steps out with a tray of wine glasses. 

Ryan gives them a thumbs up moving off.

Right on que the lights begin to flicker and music blasts from the stereo, rapidly scanning through stations.

A couple of guests gasp.

"What is that?" Jan hisses at Michael.

"I don't know." He whispers, then louder. "Just some faulty wiring folks." He chuckles pulling the plug from the stereo.

It continues to play and Jim and Pam join in moaning, waltzing the livingroom with sheets over their heads.

One woman actually screams. 

Ryan giggles as wine corks start popping sending sprays of red and white wine up to the ceiling.

"Ryan!"

"It's not me," he says walking over and ripping the sheets off.

Everyone gasps when nothing is underneath.

"I'm leaving." Angela proclaims grabbing her purse.

"Angela, please." Jan follows after her.

"Just a clever parlor trick everyone."   
Michael chuckles as guests start gathering their things. He grabs Ryan by the shoulder in a firm grip.

"Dad, it wasn't me."

"Jan put a lot of time into tonight," he says disappointed. "Go to your room and stay there!"

Ryan stomps upstairs and Jim and Pam follow, defeated.

  
"Sorry guys. I thought it would work." Ryan says forlorn.

"It's not your fault." Pam says kindly.

"Don't worry. We'll think of something. I know it."

Jim smiles at him. "Sure we will buddy." He pats his shoulder. "Thanks for trying."

Ryan scuffs his shoe on the floor sadly. "Night."

"Goodnight."

-

"What now?" Jim sighs as they head up stairs.

"Ryan's trying, but they just don't believe him." She says pacing.

"He's got photos for goodness sake!"

"Jim, you had a photo of Big Foot."

"This is different. Eventually He's gonna bring someone up here and then what? We've got to try to contact that beetle guy. We gotta get some help."

"I don't know..."

Jim walks over and picks up the recently reacquired handbook flipping through it. 

There's got to be something. 

Pam flops down in the old recliner and stares unseeing towards the model.

From outside car doors are still slamming.

She sighs. All those people tramping through their home, high heels on the freshly renovated hardwood. She blinks back tears.

From the model cemetery a light flickers catching her eye.

"Jim, look!" A neon sign flashing above a freshly covered grave.

He comes over to join her in squinting down at the landscape. "I didn't do that one." He murmurs.

"It's him. It's Betelgeuse." She pauses feeling the weight of the word. "Betelgeuse..." She looks at Jim. "should I?"

He chews his lip thoughtfully. "Go ahead third time's a charm."

She takes a deep breath. "Betelgeuse!"

A loud zap pops in the atmosphere igniting a white hot heat that sears through them for an instant and then they are suddenly and unceremoniously transported into the model falling in a heap next to the freshly covered grave.

Mechanized clouds move in the sky across a mechanical moon, throwing strange shadows everywhere. Ground fog creeps slowly along the graves sending a chill.

"What happened?" Pam asks brushing herself off.

"Three time's a powerful number."

Pam looks down at a grave marker. "Bet... el... geuse. What an awful name. I thought it was like -- you know. The juice of beetles. Where is he? What do we do?"

Jim looks at the grave and knocks on the stone. 

Nothing. 

"Has anything been simple so far? From the look of the shovels, we dig."

Panting they fling shovel full, after shovel full of dirt behind them, arms straining. 

They're nearly six feet down before they ever hit wood, the shovel sends splinters flying.

"It's about time." Jim puffs, shaking dirt from his clothes.

They lean down and dust off the brass plate on the coffin. "BETELGEUSE" 

"Guess we open it."

"Maybe we should knock first?" 

A slight tremor in the ground shakes them. They look at each other quickly scrambling from the grave.

They barely have time to crawl out when a mouldering corpse springs out of the grave and jumps on Pam's back.  
She screams and struggles trying to shake it off. Jim grabs at it yanking.   
It flies off and does a Three Stooges hammer on his head.   
He stumbles backward falling to his backside in shock. Pam rushes to his side and together they stare up at this strange figure.

There's something unreal about this corpse they realize. Something almost mechanical. 

Then it grins insanely at them, flies straight up into the air over their heads and crashes against the tombstone... 

As it flies apart they see it was only a huge marionette on a string and pole.   
A menacing laugh comes from behind the gravestone and puppeteer Betelgeuse steps out. 

With pasty complexion and green moldering hair he looks like somthing that just crawled out from under a rock. 

"All right, who are you?"

"We're..."

"You're the dead."

"Aren't you dead?"

"Heck no! I'm rolling. I'm a businessman. I'm the man what am. Beeetel Jooose! Who do I gotta kill?"

"You don't kill anyone."

"Just get some people out of our house."

"Bio busting. I love it. Who do I gotta kill? Family right? Obnoxious, I bet," he contorts his face. "Mommy, daddy, piglets."

"Just a son."

"Hey you've been on Saturn!" He brushes some yellow dust off her. "I hate those Sandworms! Yecchhh! I've lost a lot of buddies to Sandworms. So a son? He got good legs? I love a young leg good for working. 

Air blows up Pam's dress, exposing her legs and he leers. 

"He's ten." She snaps disgusted.

"Acts like he's thirty-five." Jim mumbles.

"So you, the dead, want me, the undead, to throw the live guys -- Mommy, Daddy and Lolita, who might not mind going to work with an old guy, out into the cold? Even though they have paid hard casharoonie for your dump?"

"But... the Scotts are destroying our house." 

He scolds them sarcastically. "You Halpert's are the backbone of the afterlife. So what's my cut?"

"Can you scare them off?" 

"Me, scary? You be the judge." He swirls his face and shoulders into a horrifying image of writhing snakes. Pleased, he laughs at himself.

Pam looks at Jim nervously.

They don't trust him but...

"You swear no one will get hurt?"

He winks "Oh, cross my heart, sweetheart."

She closes her eyes. "Alright." She says hesitantly.

He grins manically. "It's showtime."

-

Ryan screams as Betelgeuse crashes through the house. 

"Herre little boy." He calls cackling.

Taking shape as an oversize snake he slithers down the stairs on Ryan's heels, bearing sharp yellow teeth. 

Jan grabs him shielding him against a corner.

"Hey, there baby," Betelgeuse leers, head taking shape, large reptilian eyes pulse as he presses closer licking putrid lips. 

"Betelgeuse betelgeuse betelgeuse!" Pam shouts.

There's a great flash that fills the hall with a rancid odor and blinding smoke. It swallows betelgeuse up and dissipates quick as it came.

"Rat finks!" He screeches into the void.

"Oh my God," Jan says pressing a hand to her mouth.

"Everyone okay?" Michael asks racing towards them putting a hand on their shoulders.

"I'm s-sorry I'm so sorry," Pam whispers.

"Why are you doing this? I thought you were my friend!" Ryan sobs. "Leave me alone!"

Jan and Michael look past his shoulder but can't see anything.

Jan takes a deep breath unsure of what they've just witnessed, some kind of collective hallucination or something.  
"It's alright now honey," she soothes hesitantly. "Too many late nights and wood varnish," she chuckles shakily. "I told you we needed more windows open." She murmurs to Michael.

"I think we all just need a good night's sleep." He agrees rubbing his eyes.

"Are you guys crazy? It'll come back!" Ryan panics looking towards the attic.

"There's nothing up there." Michael tries to reason. "But if it will make you feel better I'll go check."

But the image of Betelgeuse's grotesque face is still fresh in his mind.  
"Don't!" He cries throwing his arms around his waist. If it traps him up there who's gonna keep them safe.

Michael's at a loss over his hysterics.

"No more attic adventures." Jan says tiredly. "Let's just go to bed."

"I'm sleeping with you guys I'm not sleeping alone."

"Fine," Michael agrees exhausted, lifting him up in much the same way he did when he was little and afraid.   
Ryan locks his arms around his neck glaring up at the attic. 

"Well, we brought them closer together anyway." Jim says hovering over the banister.

"It's not funny, Jim. We terrified that little boy. No more scare tactics, we need to talk."

\--

Ryan wakes to weak morning light filtering in through the pale gossamer curtains.   
He rubs his eyes and rolls over.

Jan's eyes are closed but he can tell she's doing her meditations.

"Where's my dad?" He asks startling her. 

From downstairs a crash sounds. 

"Getting a jump start on sanding his desk. He wants it finished for his meeting about the potential paper mill." She rolls her eyes in exasperation before turning to look at him. "Feeling better?"

"It really happened." He whispers. 

She reaches out smoothing his hair. And it feels so much like his mom he has to squeeze his eyes shut really hard and will himself not to cry.

"You know what?" She asks after a minute. "I'm tired of renovations. I think we need a day off."

"To do what?" He murmurs.

She shrugs. "Ride out to the lake, pack a lunch. Somewhere quite where we can breathe some fresh air."

She doesn't believe him he thinks, startled to realize how disappointed he feels. "Dad'll never go for that." 

She stretches. "Let me take care of your father you run along and get dressed."

-

They decide to stop at the local deli in town for some sandwiches to take down to the lake. 

Ryan stares out the window watching a few people move lazily about.

"Dad, there's a used bookstore." He says pressing his face to the window. "Can we go in? Please."

"I don't know-"

Jan reaches over playfully nudging him.

"Oh, alright." He grins. They are having a family day after all. "Why don't you two run in while I get lunch."

"Yes! Thanks, dad." He climbs from the car as soon as it slows. 

-

Jan follows him around the store casually, but he's too distracted to mind.

Rich mahogany bookcases line the walls and the smell of dated parchment fills the air, there's stacks of books in corners, on tables, even on the Chesterfield sofa.

Ryan picks up a thick hardback: Winter's river.

"I didn't know you were into town history." Jan comments.

He shrugs tracing the lettering.

"What do you think, should we get it and go check on your father? He's probably wondering where we are by now."

He nods suddenly a little bashful. "How long have we been in here anyway?" He asks following her to the counter. 

"About twenty minutes." She pays for the book and hands him the bag.

He blinks surprised. "I didn't notice we were gone that long." He looks at the bag clutched in his hand. "Uh, thanks."

"No, I don't imagine you did." She laughs ruffling his hair. "You're welcome."

"There you are!" Michael smiles at them walking along. "Ready?"

"Starving." Jan proclaims climbing in the passenger seat.

\--

They end up spending the whole day out at the lake, the weather being so nice.  
And that's okay with Ryan he decides as he drags up the stairs tiredly to get ready for bed.

He leaves the light on and climbs into bed with his book, flipping through it curiously. Page thirty-eight makes him cringe, because even though it's technically 'their' house he can't help but think about the Halpert's. He sighs closing the book and leans his head back. What must it have been like to die he wonders. to be trapped in your own house. Being out at the lake all day where their accident happened has stirred up a lot of feelings and he's not sure what to do. He doesn't think they'll try to bring that wretched... what did Pam call it? betelgeuse? He doesn't really think they'd bring it back but he doesn't really want to talk to them right now either. 

Jan pokes her head in his room to find him still sitting up. She has to hide a smile at the dinosaur pajamas. He's so serious with his books that she sometimes forgets there's a little boy in there.

"I was fixing to turn the light out." He says defensively.

"Alright," she agrees lightly.

"What's that?" He asks eyeing the lamp in her hand.

"Haven't been able to find the perfect spot for this one yet. I thought maybe in here."

He shrugs looking at it. "Maybe."

She sets it on his nightstand plugging it in. Colors burst from the delicate tiles. He smiles a little at the pattern. Where she usually works in muted florals this one consists of deep reds, blues, and yellow, depicting a school of fish, koi he thinks. 

"I think that's just the place for it." She says taking a seat on the bed.

"Me too," he says quietly, watching the colors dance on the wall.

"All set in here?" Michael asks poking his head in from around the corner.

"Guy's I'm fine." He huffs exasperated.

Jan smiles patting his leg. "Don't stay up too late. Your new bookcases are coming in tomorrow. You'll finally be able to unpack all these books." She says looking around.

They say goodnight and Ryan listens as the door clicks quietly shut.   
Snuggling beneath the blankets he tells himself he's not the least bit sorry she didn't tuck them up around him like last night.


	3. Chapter 3

"Ryan." Jim whispers from the stairway the next morning.

He turns slowly, shoulders tense.  
"I don't want to talk to you guys. Just stay in the attic and away from me."

"We're really sorry sweetie." Pam says coming to join Jim on the stairs. "We panicked, we should have never brought something back from this side we couldn't control."

"You were supposed to be my friends," he wavers. "We could have thought of something together, you didn't have to bring that nasty thing out."

"We know." Jim sighs. "Look, we need to talk to you."

"We miss you hanging out up here."

"Ryan." His father calls from down below.

He bites his lip casting a glance towards the stairs. "Later," he finally agrees.

In the office, Ryan sits perched on the corner of his father's freshly sanded executive desk helping with the final coat of stain.

"And that's why they want us out."

'Uh huh," his father replies absently, wiping his hands and surveying the wood.

"Angela and her husband will be here soon with your bookcases. make sure you put on a clean shirt." Jan says sticking her head in the room.

Ryan wrinkles his nose. "I don't like Angela she's so stuck up." He can't understand why she'd even want to be in a club with her anyway.

She shoots his father a look. "Please just be on your best behavior. No more talk about ghosts."

The oven timer dings and she looks over her shoulder frazzled. "Michael," she pleads turning to hurry off.

"She's right Ryan, you need to be on your best behavior when the Martin's are here."

"Why," he grumbles swirling the stain with a paint stick.

"Because this club is important to Jan and we should want her to be happy," he says meaningfully, catching his eye.

"Angela's mean," he huffs. "She sneers at me and makes mocking comments about being a stepson. Why does Jan even care about her opinion anyway?"

Michael sighs. "You aren't the only one struggling with the move okay," he says quietly. "Jan had to leave all her friends, social gatherings and business opportunities behind to follow us out here. A monthly club to help her feel connected to her city upbringing isn't the end of the world for you."

Ryan pouts. Those obnoxious people in his house every month criticizing them. Who needs it.

"Whatever," he hops off the desk, almost running into Jan on his way out the door.

"Michael, I'm worried about him," she murmurs rubbing her brow. "All this carrying on about ghosts and hauntings, it's not healthy."

"It's just his way of coping," he sighs.

"Making up fantastical stories?"

He nods looking distant. "When he was five and his mother left us, he came up with the crazy idea that the air conditioning vent in the guest bath was actually a black hole capable of swallowing people up, he wouldn't step foot in there for over a year no matter what I did to convince him otherwise. I don't know if he ever really believed it so much as he just needed a way to reconcile his mother's overnight disappearance, and I doubt he really believes there are ghosts here, he's just trying to cope with his feelings of the move."

"This doesn't seem the healthiest way to do it. He acts like he truly believes it."

"I'll talk to him." He promises tiredly. "Maybe take him out just the two of us. It's been awhile since we've had some one on one time, he's probably missing it."

"That sounds like a good idea." Jan agrees.

The doorbell rings startling them. 

"That's them." She smooths her skirt.  
Michael follows her out. Smiling he pulls the front door open. "Angela, how nice to see you."

"Goodmorning, Michael. Jan."

"Oh, is Tom already unloading?" He asks looking down the drive.

"Yes. We brought a... friend along, hope that's alright."

"Sure, sure, let me run out and give them a hand." He casts a reassuring smile at Jan giving her shoulder a little squeeze.

"Aren't you lucky," Angela says. "Well off and a gentleman. How are you adjusting to 'family' life?"

"We're doing well thank you." Jan says tightly.

Ryan comes down the stairs in a clean button down, the ends tucked in and his hair tamed.  
Jan smiles at him brightly. "Ryan, come say hello."

He walks over slowly, plastering a fake smile on. "Goodmorning Mrs. Martin." He says offering a hand.

She gives him a condescending smile. "How's your ghosts?"

"No. No ghosts." Jan says resting a hand on Ryan's shoulder in warning.

Angela continues to smirk at him a moment longer before turning to Jan.  
"Good news, Cecile has invited you to tea." She hands over a gaudy gold embossed envelope. Ryan rolls his eyes at the ridiculous fanfare over a stupid card.

"Oh, how exciting. I'll have to send in an order to Donna Bella's for their famous scones as a hostess gift. What do you think?"

"I'm sure they'll do nicely." She agrees. "You know Jan, you really have a lovely little country oasis out here. It would be just perfect for really entertaining." She muses. "Unless of course you think the spirits might object."

"They would." Ryan mutters.

"Ryan," Jan warns.

"I'm sure they would," Angela agrees, and there's something in her smile.

"They're real. Both of them," Jan grips his shoulder but he continues. "You just can't see them but I can, and I'm gonna prove-"

"Ryan," Jan finally snaps. "That's enough. I'm sick to death hearing about ghosts."

"But-"

"No more."

Angela sighs in sympathy. "I really feel for you, Jan, having to put up with stepchildren under your feet all day.

Ryan's fist clench and he jerks away from Jan's hand on his shoulder. "I feel sorry for you having to put up with your personality all day. The both of you!" He shouts  
running from the the house.

He ignores his dad calling for him and just keeps running. Down the drive, past the mail box, lungs burning and calves aching. She can keep her stupid womens club, he thinks furiously, vision beggining to blur. He doesn't need her.

Stumbling down a small slope he trips, tearing his pants and skinning his knee on the way down and lands in a small clearing surrounded by trees. 

Standing slowly he takes in the little building before him.  
There was no mention of a storage shed on the property. 

Idly he wonders what the Halpert's would even need to store considering the attic.

Trampling the overgrown grass he peers in the window, using his shirt sleeve to wipe the grime. It's too dark inside to see much of anything, and after testing the door and finding it padlocked he starts to scout around for a rock to try and smash it off. 

Panting, he smashes the rock against the lock again, yanking his hand back and muttering a curse when he grazes his knuckles. But it's worked, and the lock finally gives way clunking to the ground in a heap of rust.

Inside it's musty, with only a few boxes, an old sofa... and nothing else.

Strange.

He scoots further in. Why a whole shed for a couple of boxes he wonders. Surely they would have fit in the attic. Maybe they're valuable and they wanted to keep them hidden. That piques his interest and he grabs a box plopping on the musty sofa, dust billowing around him.

Photos, letters, a couple of magazines, not much of interest. 

He sighs disappointed. 

It's not until he gets to the bottom of the third box. Inside there's a plastic container with a hinged lid. He opens it to find a couple of file folders and a tiny knit hat. 

Brows crinkling he flips through the folders trying to make sense of what he's found. Two sets of tests from a fertility clinic diagnosing the patients as infertile.

He looks at the tiny hat frowning sadly. Poor Pam and Jim, they must have really wanted children.

He hesitantly opens the final folder. 

It's the deed to the house. 

...Wait.

He looks back at the last sheet. A few years apart but they share the same date. 

Almost like an anniversary or som...

He gets a sinking feeling.  
Jim must have bought the house for Pam. Something to pour their blood, sweat and tears into. Something they created together from the ground up.

No wonder they want them out.

The house is like their baby.

\--

A pair of voices calling his name.

He blinks confused and pushes up from the dusty sofa. Pale light filters in from the open door. He must have fallen asleep he thinks sluggishly stumbling for the door.

Jan and his dad are slowly making their way down the slope 

"There you are!" His father scolds. "Do you know how worried you had everyone?"

"What happened to your knee?" Jan asks eyeing the dried blood on his pants.

"I tripped." He says slowly. He's still trying to shake off the fog of sleep and piece together the events of the day.  
One thing's for sure, he has to talk to Jim and Pam and he has to get his dad and Jan to take him seriously about everything that's been happening lately.

"Are you okay?" Jan touches his shoulder.

He shrugs her off. "Is Angela still here." He wants to know. 

"They were packing their van up when we came looking for you." Michael says. "Over an hour ago I might add." He turns scanning the shed. "I didn't even know this was out here." He muses.

"Dad, we need to talk, there's a lot out here you don't know about."

"Oh I agree a talk's in order." He says getting him by the shoulder and leading him up the slope. 

But they have only to crest the hill to see that something strange is happening back at the house. 

Even from a great distance they can see a green haze emanating from within, seeming to ooze from the windows in ominous warning.

They stand awestruck at the rippling light swirling the house in an aurora.

"What in the world?" Michael breathes.

"Dad, what's happening!"

"I don't, I don't know..."

Almost as one they jog down the slope racing for the lawn.

Standing in the fog before the porch is Angela, smugly staring up at the house.

"Angela? What in the world is going on in there?" Jan asks perplexed.

She smiles slowly. "An exorcism."

"No!" Ryan cries running for the door.

"Ryan!" Jan and Michael holler chasing after him. 

"No! Pam!" Ryan screams standing frozen in the livingroom.

In the green hue and flickering shadows cast from the fireplace Pam floats in her aging body unable to speak and deteriorating beat by beat.

She turns a wrinkled face towards him and try's to smile.

"Jim!" Ryan screams. "Jim, help!"

Where is he.

An agonizing minute goes by before Jim too appears. Aging more slowly he looks to Pam horrified and reaches for her.

"What's happening to them, who are they?"

"They're the people who used to live here" Ryan crys. "Make it stop." He begs the priest Angela brought with her.

"It's too late." He informs in a raspy whisper, still in shock at what they're all witnessing.

Ryan looks to Jim and Pam. She manages to smile and tries to reach for him.

If only there was someone who knew more about this realm- He gasps and eyes the stairs.

'No' Jim mouths. But he's already running. 

Throwing the door open he runs to the model and peers down.

"B, Beetlejuice?" He wavers.

"So you're ready for me now." He rasps perched atop the Halpert's gravestone.

"Please you've got to help them," he pleads.

Beetlejuice smiles. "I will. ...For a price."

"What."

"Be my assistant. Whata ya say kid? Want to come work for the ghost with the most. Mr big daddy himself." He sits up straight adjusting his collar.

"And you'll save them, you swear?"

"Scouts honor."

"O, ok." His hands tremble. "Beetlejuice."

He doubles in size grinning wickedly.

"Beetlejuice."

"C'mon kid," he snaps tapping his foot. "One more."

"Beetlejuice!"

He bursts from the model and spins in mid air. "Its showtime." He rubs his hands together and in a flash, is down the stairs.

Ryan races trying to keep up.

Beetlejuice halts in the middle of the room larger than life and growing bigger, a ginormous carousel springs from his head playing carny music. "Attention K-mart shoppers."

Angela gasps at the sight.

"Well, who do we have here? Step right up little lady." A strongman game appears behind her lights racing up the sides to illuminate a giant shiny bell at the top. "Don't be shy, uncle Beetlejuice is about to make you fly." He cackles manically swinging his arm in the shape of a sledgehammer down.

Angela lets out a scream crashing through the window.

Still cackling he looks over to Jim and Pam. "Let's have a hand for the Halpert's folks they deserve a rest." He claps his hands and they fall to the floor in a heap beginning to regenerate.

Ryan sighs in shakey relief.

"Well, we'll get back to them after they recover from their flight." He says as they  
struggle to stand.

He fixes his eyes on Ryan. "Let's leave this crazy world behind us kid. I'll take you out in style!"

His dark minions, horned and grotesque rush the room grabbing and pulling on him.

"No!" Pam shouts straining to stand.

"Leave him alone!" Jim warns.

"Or what?" He laughs.

Michael and Jan grab the creatures by the arms trying to pull them away.

"Ah ah ah," Beetlejuice laughs.

Hooks burst from the walls and creatures wrestle Michael back against them to pin him in.

"Dad!"

He starts to run but Jan grabs him keeping him away from the things as they latch Michael to the hooks. 

Turning they set their sights on her.  
"No!" Ryan cries wrapping his arms around her waist.  
Desperate he shouts, "Beetlejuice!"

Eyes flashing he snaps his fingers forcing Ryan's jaw closed.

"Please can't you do something!" Jan calls to Jim and Pam.

Jim tries to speak but his own jaw collapses falling to the floor. Pam snatches it up trying to fix it into place.

Beetlejuice leers at Ryan. "You know, if we're going to be partners we're going to need witnesses." He forces the priest to stand before him. "I guess you'll do. You can perform a binding ceremony right?"

Jim now nearly whole manages to stand. "Beetlejuice!" He shouts.

Enraged Beetlejuice waves his hand and in a flash Jim is thrown into the wall, snake like vines curling out to hold him and force their way into his mouth to silence him.

"Beetlejuice!" Pam screams.

"Oh for crying out loud!" He wails summoning a gag over her mouth.

She yanks at it but it doesn't budge. Looking to Jim who's still struggling a desperate but determined look comes into her eyes and she rushes for the door and out into the night.

Ryan clings to Jan frantically looking around the room. His dad still struggles against the hooks pinning him. 

From across the room Jim rips a final vine loose and charges Beetlejuice.

Suddenly the house begins to shake, windows rattling, and a giant sandworm crashes through the side of the house roaring.

"Oh crap." Beetlejuice breathes trying to run. 

Pam spurs the worm on from where she sits atop it like it's some sort of morbid horse in a wild west act.

"I give I give!" He pleads cornered.

The worm raises up about to dive, eyes gleaming.  
Beetlejuice smirks wickedly and before anyone can blink his arm shoots out extending and yanks Ryan from Jan's arms.

"Mom!" He screams.

Judging the distance Jim heedlessly throws himself in the path of the lunging worm, grabbing Ryan in a tackle at the last second. They hit the floor hard as the vicious creature opens it's maw over Beetlejuice and tunnels straight through the floor.

"Rat finnk!"

The hooks and creatures disappear with him and all is breath takingly still for a single moment before a crack splits the air.

Ryan watches the beam fall towards them in slow motion before everything goes black. 

\---

A dull ache presses in the back of his skull. He keeps his eyes shut trying to will himself back into oblivion.  
A cool hand brushes his cheek.  
"Ryan."  
Suddenly he's aware of the soft bed beneath him and the gentle hum of the fan. He cracks his eyes open curiously.  
"There you are." Jan says tenderly.  
He shifts his head to see morning light outside the window. Thinking back to last night his chest constricts.  
"What happened?"

"You took a really hard hit to the head and have been out of it since." She says combing his hair.

"Since?"

"About two days." She smooths his brow gently.

Two... "Wait what happened to- 

The door swings in. "Hey look who it is," Jim grins. "Hey Michael, Pam, Ryan's awake!"

They come charging through the door. "Ryan!"  
They holler crowding around the bed. 

He blinks at them dumbly. "What's going on?"

"We've been doing some talking," Michael says.

"Yeah, we decided we don't mind sharing our home after all." Jim smiles.

"You mean all of us here together?" He asks looking around. 

"Why not?" Jan shrugs.

"The ladies club isn't going to like that."

She laughs. "Oh who cares what they think."

He smiles throwing his arms around her.

\---

"Mom!" Ryan tears through the back door.

"In the kitchen baby."

He wanders to the kitchen where Jan is hanging wallpaper with Pam's help.

"What do you think?" She asks stepping back, wiping her hands on her pants.

He shrugs giving it a once over.

"Boys." She rolls her eyes at Pam who smiles. 

"How was school?" Pam asks.

"Great! I made the baseball team."

"Oh I knew you would." Jan smiles kissing his head.

"I can't wait to tell Jim."

"He's in the study with your father."

Ryan races through the house jumping over the the patched up hole in the floorboards from where the sand worm had crashed through, past the tapestry hanging on the livingroom wall and down the hall. 

Maybe they don't have a normal house and maybe they don't have a normal family but, he peers around the corner watching Jim levitate to return a book to the top of the bookcase, and grins. He wouldn't trade it for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading:) feel free to drop a comment and don't forget to check out my other office works;)


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